


the joy glitch

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “Tell me my future,” Thor says, because the boy does not understand. Heimdall does not see the future. He sees the present, grand or small, and he projects. Heimdall is process. He is formula. He sees pattern and probability. He sees the infinite, and the end.





	the joy glitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



> I hope you have a wonderful AUEx, snickfic!

The boy comes before Heimdall on his fifteenth birthday. A mere infant in the life’s journey of his people. He stands no taller than the great sentry’s hip, and scrawny. Boys are all limb at this age, dangling and awkward, even one destined for the greatness of Odin’s son.

Heimdall has seen many like him. Young, bright eyed boys with eager grins of a ravenous childhood. The feast of life lies before them. Thor’s teachings have not yet turned to duty and honor. He is not worthy to be king, though he will become so in time. It will not be the brother, Asgard's by love but not blood. The crown and the burden will fall to Thor, as it falls to the great lineage of All-Fathers.

All, Heimdall sees in these wide, toothy smiles. All except the First. The father of Heimdall. The father of Asgard, too. The origin. The seed from which all vines sprouted.

The shade of the bifrost’s gate does nothing to dampen Thor’s shine. His eyes sparkle like a summer lake. His hair, gold as the palace his father built upon the blood of realms brought low. This boy knows nothing of those dark times. Or of his brother, frost skin softened to downy, winter white. Or of his sister, cast away by the All-Father’s life force.

Thor does not know. He may never. It is not the living’s duty to know. It is Heimdall’s, Asgard’s protector. Its history. Its knowledge. The great eye of the king. The guardian. The ancient one.

Thor grins up at Heimdall like the realms lie at his feet. Like he, too, is not destined for the ash and decay of a life he has not yet begun to seize.

“Tell me my future,” Thor says, because he does not understand. Heimdall does not see the future. He sees the present, grand or small, and he projects. Heimdall is process. He is formula. He sees pattern and probability. He sees the infinite, and the end.

Heimdall’s sensors whir over Thor’s face. His high, bunched cheekbones. His clothes wrinkled from the training yards.

“Dark days await you, Odinson,” Heimdall says.

Thor’s grin grows. “Let them come,” he boasts with the pump of a tiny fist. “I will defeat all who challenge Asgard with the power of Thor!” His mighty squeak echoes through the bowl of the bifrost’s gate.

Heimdall gazes upon him with solemn eyes. “There are some things,” he says, “that strength alone cannot defeat, Thor prince.”

Young Thor cocks his head. His grin takes an unforeseen turn, softening to a smile too thoughtful for one so brash. “And there are some things, great Heimdall, that even you cannot see. Couldn’t that be true?”

Heimdall regards him, and a question that he has not heard in a long time. It is hardly the first time one questions Heimdall's wisdom. Or that one has proposed the possibility of a fault in his design. A blindspot in his all-seeing gaze.

But Thor does not doubt. Thor asks, for he is curious.

“I suppose,” Heimdall says. For Thor is not wrong. Heimdall knows all he can, but the living made him. Long ago, in an age only he now remembers. Could Heimdall’s sight one day fail? Yes. Perhaps it already has a time or two.

He will run a self-diagnostic later. One of many he will run in the years after this meeting with Odin’s son.

***

To Heimdall, space is formula. From the Statesman’s bow, Heimdall gazes out into the void. But to him, it is no void at all. It is a series of distances, of readings. Every planet, every star, every blade of grass or drop of water. The cosmos are an algorithm. An infinite series of numbers.

“Of possibility,” the First told Heimdall in those early days. Data from Heimdall’s great knowledge bank would be, to Asgard, a source of purpose and possibility. “Destiny,” the First said. “All living things have one, no matter how modest, Heimdall. You will see this through the ages. And now and then, under the turn of a great star, you will find ones whose destiny carry the weight of civilizations.”

This was a turn of phrase, Heimdall now knows. It is under no great star, but in a stolen passenger vessel, that his gaze falls upon Thor. The brash youth has become a man, 1500 years of age, entering his prime. From his appearance, the years take a heavier toll than their number. His vitals read optimally from this distance, but he is agitated. Heart rate, elevated. Base temperature, high. Blood pressure, raised enough for notice.

Thor wears his father’s eye guard now. An intriguing coincidence, the First would have called this. Perhaps even Destiny.

“You are unwell,” Heimdall tells him. Thor smiles at this news. It does not seem the proper response. “Your heart rate is elevated,” Heimdall continues. “As are your base temperature and blood pressure.”

“Am I dying?” Thor asks. From the shine in his sole remaining eye, Heimdall assumes that this is a joke. He has, over his many centuries of life, not adapted well to the evolution of humor. It is more practical to maintain the straightforwardness with which he was built.

“Your vitals are strong,” Heimdall replies. “But your body is taxed. I recommend that you seek the services of a healer.”

Thor chuckles and returns his gaze to the window. What a vast plain he must see, emptiness dotted with singular diamonds in the distance. Heimdall wishes he could absorb as they do at times, it would be a prime opportunity for study. To turn off his vast store of data and see as one like Thor sees. But Heimdall was not built with this capability. He sees all, at all times.

“The injury to your eye weakens the performance of your body,” Heimdall tells him.

“My eye is fine,” Thor says.

Heimdall replies, “Your eye is not fine, my king. Your eye is gone.”

Thor glances at him, brow raised in surprise. “That was almost funny, Heimdall!” He laughs. “Our kind will soften you one day, I swear it.”

“Soften me? Is that your plan for my use?”

At this, Thor looks surprised in a different way. “No, no,” he says. “Sorry. It was a joke, that’s all.”

Time passes. 12 standard minutes, to be exact.

“I’m tired,” Thor says beside him. “And I grieve. We are in pain, Heimdall. All of us. But I’m fine.”

Heimdall glances at him. “I’ve explained to you the ways in which you are not.”

Thor smiles. “I am performing adequately under the circumstances, then. Can we agree on that?”

Heimdall does not agree. He exists to offer counsel to the ruler of Asgard in matters large and small. Heimdall's advice is indisputable. The First created Heimdall to be correct, not to belittle the living but to help them avoid mistakes.

But Heimdall nods, because the odds of of convincing Thor otherwise are not favorable. They fall silent again. Thor looks out upon the long stretch of space. Heimdall looks, instead, at Thor.

The hour grows late when Heimdall says, “Asgard is not a place, my king. It is a people. What people we could save are alive because of you.”

Thor shakes his head. “It cannot be a people alone, great Heimdall. You more than any of us are Asgard. Its memory, its conscience, its customs, and its future.”

“Asgard has always been a people,” Heimdall says. “I was born of a single person. My loyalty falls to the line of the First. It does not matter in what realm that line resides.”

“It’s odd,” Thor muses. He turns from the window to give Heimdall his full attention. “You say you were born as if you are alive yourself. But you were not born, were you? The First crafted you to be the wisest of our kind. More pure, more devoted. Above us in every way.”

Heimdall frowns. “I am not above you or Asgard,” he says. "And you’re right, my king. ‘Born’ is a word claimed by the living. I am not worthy of such a thing.”

“Heimdall,” Thor takes hold of Heimdall’s hand. His king's skin is warm. “There are none more worthy than you.”

Heimdall grasps Thor's hand. Through Thor's twitching fingers, Heimdall measures the lowered rate of his heartbeat. “That is not accurate,” Heimdall tells him, “under any measure.”

Thor grins. “Then your measures need adjustment.” His expression softens. “Thank you,” he says. “It feels good to have a bit of joy on this day. I can only hope our people find the same.”

‘Our people,’ he says, counting Heimdall among them. “They will,” Heimdall tells Thor. “Some do already.”

“Good. Watch over them, Heimdall.” Thor squeezes his hand before removing his own. “I’ll hope for a few hours of sleep. A long day awaits tomorrow.”

Heimdall nods. “Many long days await.” Thor nods as well, a gesture Heimdall reads as his farewell.

He just turns to leave when Heimdall adds, “I will watch over you while you sleep.”

Thor barks a startled laugh. “Will you?”

Heimdall nods. For some reason, this seems to amuse his king further. “In that case, I’ll sleep with my clothes on tonight.” Heimdall reads his elevated brain activity. The rhythmic jump of his king in good humor. “Or perhaps not,” Thor says, smiling widely. “I’ll let it be a surprise, how about that?”

Heimdall frowns. “If you would prefer-”

“No, no, please watch. Please.” Thor says the last word with hands steepled. “Goodnight, Heimdall.”

“Goodnight,” Heimdall says.

Thor takes his joy with him. The brightness of a mind at play. Warmth of good humor piquing his base temperature in pleasant ways.

Heimdall measures these symptoms.

 _Good_ , his processors decide. Thor’s joy is good.

***

It is not Asgard.

Heimdall knew it would not be Asgard, for he has turned his gaze upon Midgard many times. More often in recent years thanks to the interest taken in the Terran world known as Earth or C-53. For Asgard’s people, there may never again be golden walls and treasure halls. Long feasting rooms and manicured orchards overlooking the training yards.

But they may be happy here. Heimdall’s probabilities never hold complete accuracy. As infallible as Heimdall’s wisdom, the mortal condition causes variables. Living things are, by nature, unpredictable even to systems tasked with their prediction.

But there is a good chance of success in this plan. Though it lacks the comfort of the place they once called home, Asgard’s people prefer honest work. There is much of that to be had along the rolling slopes of Norway. The water here is cold and blue, and waves crash with white foam upon the rocky shore. The sky is clear, and the sun is warm above a crisp breeze.

There is land to build on. Land to farm. Land to call their own.

“What a dump!” Loki grumbles. He crosses stern arms and glares down the lowered ramp. “I thought you said you were returning us to the land Odin spoke of.”

“This is the land Odin spoke of,” Thor says. He makes no attempt at hiding his amusement. “Did you expect us to land at the exact spot of his departure?”

“Yes,” Loki seethes. “That is exactly what I expected, because that’s exactly what you _told me we were doing._ ”

Thor claps a hand of camaraderie on his brother’s shoulder. “And here I believed you to be the better listener of us both,” he says.

Loki scowls and twists out of his grip. “It’s too rocky,” he insists, waving a hand towards the open ramp. “How do you expect our crops to grow under these conditions? Do you feel the warmth of the sun? Tempered by this cool breeze, but at the break of summer our fields will wither! And what of our water supply? What of materials for building?”

“We’ve gone over this,” Thor says, smiling. “Our friends have ensured that we will have help as we settle-”

“ _Your_ friends,” Loki mutters, glowering. “And I’ve yet to hear one good reason why you had to involve that second rate halfwit sorcerer-”

“I thought it wise to involve him. Unless you prefer the idea of falling through infinite space for longer than 30 minutes.”

Loki finds it within himself to glare even harder. But he does not twist away this time when Thor rests a hand on his shoulder. “We have help, but we both know this won’t be easy," Thor says. "This will be hard work, brother. The best of intentions can’t do the labor of able hands in times like these.”

Loki sighs. “Save your speeches for the people they’re meant for, Thor. This will be a nightmare and you know it.”

“I do,” Thor agrees. Loki’s brow rises. “And while it would be a boost not only to me but our people if you were to stay, I won’t begrudge you if this is where we part. Truly.”

Loki frowns deeply.

At once, he sniffs. “What, before I see your building efforts turn this hill into a muddy slop?” Loki rubs his hands together and dances from under Thor’s grip. “Leave? Before the show? The crown has driven you mad already.”

With this Loki is gone, parading down the lowered ramp and out into the grassy field. He joins the wary flock of Asgard’s travelers, looking out at the open land that will become Asgard’s new home.

Thor lingers on the ramp. Heimdall joins him. “Apprehension in a moment like this is natural.”

Thor smiles. “Have you seen many moments like this, Heimdall?”

Heimdall has seen much. The rise and fall of civilizations. Once proud nations reduced to bloody ruins and dust. Asgard itself has brought realms low and left others, nervous but resolved, to start over. That past is not so distant, as Thor now knows. Hela’s banishment occurred well into Odin’s lifetime, not long before Odin’s bride bore him a son.

“There are sights even my eyes have not seen,” Heimdall admits. “Do not heed your brother’s words. He raises true concerns but fails to see the promise behind them.”

Thor shakes his head, still smiling. “Actually, my brother is a great comfort to me.” At Heimdall’s questioning gaze, he chuckles. “He’s staying. Much as I’ve faulted Loki over our lives, I would not fault him for leaving now before the days grow hard. This won’t be easy, Heimdall. What we’re trying to do, what I’m trying to lead our people through… I would bear him no ill-will for leaving. But Loki is staying. I’m glad for it. I’m quite glad.”

Things change quickly for the living. Thoughts and feelings soured a mere five years ago now turn warm and fond. Heimdall gazes at Thor, and from his breast his sensors whir. _Good_ , is the outcome. This change is good.

“I will scout the area,” Heimdall says. “I have already completed a cursory scan of the perimeter. But from the surface, it will be easier to run a more detailed diagnostic on our natural resources. I will also run a projection on climate for the upcoming months. Based on those estimates, we can begin charting our plans for farming.”

“That will be a huge help,” Thor says. He sets a hand on Heimdall’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Heimdall shakes his head. “That isn’t necessary. This is my purpose.”

His sensors pick up a change in pressure on his shoulder. A squeeze of Thor’s hand disrupts his external shell. “It may not be necessary,” Thor says, “but I’d like to thank you all the same.” His mouth twitches. “And because I’m your king, you’ll just have to endure it, won’t you?”

Heimdall nods, for it is true. “It is not the worst thing I’ve had to endure for a king,” he says.

Thor’s single eye warms with delight. “You are so close to being funny!” he declares. “So very close, my friend. We will get you there, I promise.” With a pat of Heimdall’s shoulder, he descends into the waiting land that is now his.

Friend, Thor called him. Heimdall combs his database for the word.

‘Friend.’ Thor is the first of Asgard’s rulers to call Heimdall this.

***

Many cultures see rain as a sign of foreboding or misfortune. For Asgard, this could not be more false. With storms come great change and the cleansing of past sins. Rain purifies the earth, kindles its seeds, leads to growth. Though Heimdall does not commune with many, he senses a change in the people at the first spots of rain. Their worries about the climate quiet. He hears laughter through thick canvas tents as the rain patters down and soaks the soil into clay.

Heimdall leaves a trail of boot prints through the mud leading to the tent standing on the far hill. The feet of less sure-footed would slip in the soaked grass. Heimdall peels back the entrance flap. “The Statesman’s quarters will be better suited for you tonight, my king,” he says.

Thor looks up in surprise at his entrance. He sits at the foot of his makeshift bed, a raised platform with a collection of blankets. In the privacy of his tent, Thor wears a simple tunic and pants, no longer bid to wear the royal colors of his house. A glass of spirit fills his hand.

“Heimdall?” Thor stands immediately, his glass left on the canvas floor. “Are you trying to get yourself a belly full of rust?” He laughs and guides Heimdall inside. “Come in. Norns, what do I even do if you rust? They don’t make parts to suit you here, I don’t think.”

Heimdall looks between Thor and his own mud-caked boots. Mindfully, he bends to remove them.

Thor’s good eye lingers on Heimdall's toes. It is not against Asgardian custom to bare one’s feet before royalty. Yet, on many matters, the All-Fathers differ. Especially trivial ones like the removal of shoes.

“This is odd to say,” Thor admits, “but I’ve never seen your feet before. I don’t know, I guess I assumed you had feet. The rest of you looks like me, I’m not sure why your feet should be any different.”

Thor is not the first to contemplate the differences between Heimdall and the living. His intelligence. His memory banks. His wide-ranging sight.

But Heimdall wonders if Thor is the first of his kind to contemplate Heimdall's outer shell. Or, the first since the First, whose design allowed Heimdall to exist in harmony with Asgard’s people. To stand, not as Other, but with an exterior that appeared as they do. Yes, even to the feet.

“The Statesman will be better suited to you this night,” Heimdall tells him.

Thor replies with a lifted hand. Between his fingers, energy fizzles, pure white and crackled with purpose. He chuckles. “Actually, I prefer it here. It’s as if fortune is smiling down on us, Heimdall. Blessing our choice to start again.”

Fortune is but favorable probability in a series of outcomes. But Heimdall will not speak against his king’s optimism. He speaks instead against a different matter. “I do not rust,” he says. “My construction does not allow for it. And I am more than capable of seeing to my own repair.”

Heimdall speaks fact, but Thor seems startled by the words. Seconds pass as Thor looks on Heimdall with his single eye. “Are you angry with me?” Thor asks.

It is a silly question, one a child should ask, not a king. But Thor stares with such sincerity, Heimdall asks, “Why do you think this?”

“Your voice elevated,” Thor says. He motions towards Heimdall’s neck. “When you spoke of your own repairs. You’re right, of course. You’re better suited to handle your own repairs than anyone. I only meant, any supplies needed for your care may not be as available here. The captain tells me of a place called Wakanda in the African continent. The Wakandan people are more advanced technologically. And there are natural resources there that we may not find in other continents.” His confusion softens to something more thoughtful. “I meant no offense,” he says.

“It is not possible to offend me,” Heimdall tells him. He scans the down turn of Thor’s face.

Thor’s joy is good, his processors deem this so. Thor’s continued joy is better, and this is the reason why Heimdall came tonight.

Many have not sought much from Heimdall’s ability to speak. He gets questions and gives answers. Thor demands more than communication, though. Thor wants to...engage with Heimdall. Heimdall, in response, must turn on advanced properties that have not been in use in some time. He must evolve, as the living themselves have. It is quite unique, his relationship with Thor.

“It is, of course, your choice where you lay your head,” Heimdall tells him. “It is my duty to share history. That of your father, and your father’s father, and the All-Fathers and Mothers of your great line. A king holds himself above. This dwelling is not befitting of a-”

“A king? It is though,” Thor tells him. “It’s fitting for me.” Heimdall’s mouth snaps open to disagree, but Thor speaks before he can. “Are you feeling alright, Heimdall?” he asks.

Something new enters Thor’s face. Something - not confusion or contemplation. _Concern_ , his processors reveal. Concern for the plight of his people? Concern for the rain, or for what is to come?

Concern for Heimdall? A strange conclusion. Heimdall scans it, rescans it. “I do not feel,” he reminds Thor.

Thor’s worry becomes a frustrated smile. “Are you performing optimally then?” he amends.

Heimdall is, as he always is, as he always will be. It is his design. But affirming his own performance is far from why Heimdall is here. It is rare to have the opportunity to examine Thor. To stand in his space and read the curious glint in his single eye.

Heimdall says, “With your permission, my king, I will run my diagnostic again.”

“Your diagnostic?”

“As I did when you were small,” Heimdall says. “Fifteen years of age. You may not remember it now.”

Thor’s mouth slips open.

A moment later, he turns away. It is not the response Heimdall expects, nor one he projects in his secondary outcomes. “No,” Thor says.

“It was a different time,” Heimdall explains. “Much has changed among the realms, among Asgard. Much has changed with you.”

“You said dark days awaited me,” Thor says. His single eye takes on the distance of the living engaged with memories. They cannot recall the past with Heimdall’s ease. Search data banks for the exact moment in time. Watch it back with the exact precision of its original occurrence. Thor and his kind, they remember flashes. Distortions. If only, for a moment, Heimdall could see as he does.

“They may now be behind you, my king,” Heimdall says. “It is important to know-”

“It isn’t though,” Thor says. He distances himself from Heimdall, returning to the site of his makeshift bed. “You mean well, Heimdall. Maybe the wisest course is to know. To prepare if there is doom and destruction ahead. I hunted for our future too once. Sought out the Infinity Stones and found death and destruction in their wake.

“But I can’t know now. I can’t. I have to believe I can do this. I have to believe I can be king.”

Heimdall frowns. “You are king-”

“You more than any other know blood and title don’t make one worthy.” Thor gathers his glass from the canvas floor. “I have to believe I am worthy to lead our people into the next stage of our existence. I have to believe I won’t bring shame to them or to my father’s legacy. Belief is all I have now, Heimdall.” He drains his glass in one swallow. “I know you won’t understand. You operate in absolutes, you always have. You are wise and true. But if your absolute is against my belief… I can’t. I have to trust that I can do this, that we can do this.”

Heimdall nods slowly. “If you wish, I can withhold the result. The knowledge will be mine, and I can provide counsel-”

“I would order you to tell me,” Thor says, smiling. “In a moment of struggle or doubt, I would make you, and that faith would be lost. No. I need this, Heimdall. We need this.”

Heimdall does not approve of this answer. Thor’s reasons are in line with the character Heimdall reads in him. He speaks honestly and with logic. But it is unwise to turn down the opportunity for knowledge. To prepare for the future, no matter how dire.

Yet, Heimdall’s purpose has never been to prepare for the future. The future belongs to the living. Heimdall exists to counsel, to offer aid, to be a tool of his king’s use. It is not his purpose to deny doom if it is to befall them. Heimdall could have stopped Ragnarok. He could have stepped in as Hela’s appetites grew beyond the throne’s control. He could have dissuaded Odin from locking her away with nothing but her rage and hurt.

So much pain Heimdall could have negated. So much destruction. So much death. But it is not his place. He is memory. He is knowledge. His job is to see. It is not to judge, nor is it to prevent.

But Heimdall has deemed Thor’s joy to be good. His processors tell him so, and his systems do not lie. If Thor’s joy is good, then Thor’s joy is to be maintained at all costs. Thor’s joy is best maintained by understanding the future that is to come. By negating the worst of its potential dangers.

Yet, this goal lies in conflict with Heimdall’s purpose.

“I will,” Heimdall blinks down at Thor, “watch over you as you sleep then.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

Thor draws his tunic over his head. Such action used to make his proud hair snag on the fabric and spill down his face when it came free. Now, there is nothing. What was once essential to Thor’s being is gone. Thor has not grown it out either, in the months since their escape. He has taken to cutting it for reasons Heimdall cannot compute.

Rising from the bedding, Thor stretches long and high above his head. He yawns behind pressed lips. Then, he glances at Heimdall. “Were you planning to watch over me from here?”

“I would prefer to,” Heimdall says.

Though Thor laughs, he looks bewildered. “Do you...have preferences, Heimdall?”

Preference is, at its core, based on the weight of possible outcomes. It is a matter of ratios, based on logic. Heimdall’s preference would be to not plant their crops in the dead of winter. This is a preference based on weather patterns. On Midgard’s seasons. On the trajectory of the sun.

Tonight, Heimdall’s preference is to stand guard over Thor in person. But the reason…

An intruder. Probability: low.

A betrayal. Loki, probability: low. A civilian, probability: low. An outside threat, probability: low.

A violent turn in the weather that the God of Thunder cannot manage. Probability: low.

Sudden illness: low. Sudden injury: low. Infection of Thor’s missing eye: low.

Night terrors born of nerves, uneasiness, loss, or pain: moderate.

“It would be wise for you to allow me to stay,” Heimdall says.

“Alright.” Thor’s stare stays on Heimdall as he rises to remove his slacks. In his undergarments, he peels back two blankets on his makeshift bed. “In that case, join me.”

“Join you?”

“Trust me, the last thing I need is someone hovering over my bed all night, Heimdall. If you prefer to stay, I prefer this.” Thor pats the bedclothes next to him. “Please.”

Heimdall computes no reason why he should accept. His processors deem the outside threat potential low. And any such threat can be dealt with as swiftly from where Heimdall stands now than lying beside Thor.

Yet, Heimdall’s preference is to stay, and his king's preference is proximity.

Heimdall peels off his outer cloak and tunic, both soaked from the rain. With his outer cloak, he squeezes the excess water from his braided hair. His slacks, he removes as well, and lays his garments on the canvas to dry. When he straightens, Thor’s gaze is still on him. Something in it has changed.

He turns when Heimdall joins him, lying on his side so Heimdall sees only his back. Lying down is not unfamiliar but still uncommon for Heimdall. He does not sleep, and as such he does not have occasion often to settle in this position. When his parts need maintenance at times, especially in the lower half of his exterior shell. Heimdall is used to being on his feet.

He is not opposed to the position. But he would prefer if Thor allowed him to perform the duty he specified. “May I see your face?” he asks.

Thor glances over his shoulder. His grin reminds Heimdall of that fifteen year old who looked upon life with the hunger of a starving man. “Not tonight,” he says. Again, he turns away, settling his head on the blankets. “Next time, perhaps.”

***

Heimdall senses Loki’s anger before he hears it. Loki's elevated pulse screams through Heimdall’s scanners. His flabbergasted lips move a few times before he manages to shriek, “Are you mad!?”

Thor, until this very moment, was not mad; he was asleep. He teetered on the edge of waking, snores dissipating into husked breaths. As the morning sun danced across rain-damp tents, Heimdall reclined on an elbow and gazed down at Thor. His king’s face tucked to a shoulder, sleep-warmth staining his cheek.

At Loki’s entrance, Thor’s expression becomes a grunt of wakefulness. He blinks a dazed eye open and looks about. Thor sighs at the sight of Heimdall, then squints to the front of his tent. Morning light spills in, blotted by the angry shadow that is Asgard’s prince.

Thor smiles at Loki’s ire. “Good morning, brother,” he rasps.

“You - I can’t -” Loki gestures furiously. “Are you _sleeping with the ancient intelligence of Asgard_!?”

Heimdall looks upon him, then turns towards Thor. His king’s expression brightens the more awake he becomes. ”I think so.” He glances at Heimdall, then turns a sunny smile back on Loki. “Yes. I’ve confirmed it.”

Loki sputters, awed and indignant. “That is _not_ included in the rights of rulership, you ox! This is recklessly stupid, even for you-”

“Oh, Loki.” The words blur behind a heavy yawn. “You chose to write plays during your kingship, I choose this. I fail to see the problem.”

Loki flaps rageful arms like he intends to take flight. Given his mighty seidr craft, should he so choose he could. “What is that even like!?” he demands. “Do you expect the thing to sire you an heir?”

“I should be so lucky,” Thor says, smiling. “But it’s good that you’re here. I've heard of fear spreading among our people. Some have concerns about starting our crops without the traditional rites of spring.”

By Loki’s angry huffs, he is not ready to move on. He folds his arms. “As far as I know, none of those texts made it in the evacuation.”

“They didn’t, which is why I’d hoped you would begin the process of scripting a new rite.”

Very few things startle Thor’s brother to silence. Loki’s mouth drops open, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“You were always better at this part of our tradition, Loki. You got the meaning behind the actions. You made fun of the antiquated parts and lamented the beautiful things that rang true. I can’t think of a single person better for the task.”

Loki jabs an accusing finger towards the bed. “You’re trying to distract me from this...whatever the hell this is. It won’t work-”

“Speaking of, you will have Heimdall’s considerable resources at your disposal.”

Loki snorts. “As you’ve had Heimdall’s _considerable resources_ at your disposal?”

Thor gazes at him from across the tent. “I will not force you, Loki. Come to think of it, the Valkyrie may-”

“Oh come off it, do you want your new ritual texts written in drunk-speak?” Loki glares at him, and at Heimdall. “I’ll do it,” he commits. “If only because it will take my mind off this disaster.”

Thor smiles. “It means a great deal to me-”

“I hate you both tremendously,” Loki scowls. With a flourish, he flings the flap of Thor’s tent open and stalks back out into the sun.

Heimdall turns from the other side of the tent to gaze down at Thor. His king’s eyes have closed again, and he’s begun to laugh atop the bedclothes. “He loves you,” Heimdall says.

“Oh yes, and it pains him,” Thor agrees through his laughter. He stretches under the blankets bunched around his waist. His back bridges, and Heimdall gazes at the motions of his body. Motions Heimdall, too, could make were he inclined to move his shell with such careless ease.

With a sigh, Thor settles on his back. He covers a new yawn behind a hand. “Mmm. Do you ever sleep, Heimdall?”

“I do not,” Heimdall tells him.

Thor blinks his drowsy eye up at Heimdall. The eye guard he wears shows a distorted outline of Heimdall’s reflection. “What is it like watching someone sleep?” he asks. “Can you tell if a person dreams?”

“At close enough proximity,” Heimdall says.

“Did I dream?”

“You did,” Heimdall tells him. “A good dream. One of deep waters and summer sun. Green grass growing wild under a vast blue sky.”

Thor smiles. “I was dreaming of home,” he assumes.

“You were,” Heimdall says. “But this one, not the last. First the fortune of rain, then the fortune of pleasant future dreams.”

“Fortune,” Thor echoes sleepily. He grunts as he lifts himself enough to prop one sleep-warmed cheek in a hand. “I didn’t know you believed in such things. Fortune isn’t exactly statistical probability or...what do they call it here? Science?”

It is true, Heimdall does not believe fortune to be real. Calculated likelihood, but not luck or chance without causation. But he has a king who would choose belief over knowledge. A king whose joy is vital to the continuation of their people. Whose joy is vital to Heimdall, too, as the maintainer of Asgard's history.

Heimdall traces fingers along the edge of Thor’s eye guard. He does not know why he does this. His processors read the action as _good_ and _worthy to continue._

Thor stares at him, single eye blinking slowly.

When their lips meet, it is brief. A touch, soft and simple. Heimdall moves in subtle reply, a gentle greeting to Thor’s caution.

Thor looks upon him when it's over, tongue dragged across his lips. “Was that your first kiss, Heimdall?” he asks.

“I have seen millions,” Heimdall informs him. “Intimacy shared on planets the most traveled of your kind have not come close to. There are worlds far beyond even the golden touch of Asgard. Love shared between creatures the likes of which your people cannot imagine.”

“Hm,” Thor hums, smiling. “That isn’t a no.”

It was not, but Heimdall does not know how else to answer. He has been kissed, yes. Many centuries breed many regimes, many drunken episodes, and many shy, misguided crushes. Heimdall has been kissed, touched, and spoken to in ways that one should speak to a member of the living.

But the only one who truly kissed him was the First. It was in the early moments of Heimdall’s life. Celebration of Heimdall’s existence. The pleasured laughter of a being no longer alone.

Even now, long after the First’s passage to the next life, Heimdall remembers him in a different light. Others are a series of projected memories, impressions, and biological readings. The First is a sensation. He is whirs of Heimdall’s scanners and a twitch of his metal fingers.

Heimdall has no doubt he will remember Thor in a similar way. Heimdall looks upon his drowsy smile and sees _good_. Only good.

“Are you programmed to return such gestures?” Thor asks. “Social conditioning, or-”

“No,” Heimdall answers.

When Heimdall kisses Thor, Thor is the one who replies. The bedsheets shift as Thor moves closer to him. Heimdall registers the heat of Thor’s body in his sensors. His heart rate rises, as does his base temperature. The scent of Thor’s power burns on his skin, soft but ever intriguing. Thor is far from the first of the line to carry the strength of the storm. There have been many throughout history to claim the power of Thor. But there is only one like Thor Odinson. The feel of him, the scent, is unlike any before him.

Thor sighs beneath Heimdall’s kiss. It seems to take his good eye longer than usual to peel open. “What was that?” he asks.

Heimdall answers with another kiss, tracing the skin beside Thor’s eye guard. Thor hums and settles on his back. As Heimdall feasts upon Thor’s lips, Thor’s sleepy fingers play with Heimdall’s braided hair.

Heimdall rests a hand on Thor’s breast. He feels Thor's heartbeat under his fingertips. Its pulse thump-thumps faster against Heimdall’s touch.

“Ignore that,” Thor tells him. “It happens to my kind in situations like these.”

“I will not ignore anything about you, Thor Odinson," Heimdall tells him.

The statement draws intense curiosity from Thor. He looks like he wants to ask something, head tilted and a slim part to his lips. But when he speaks, it is only to say, “Alright.” He remains on his back, a smile returning to his face. “You know,” he says, “I really should be getting up. There’s much to do today, as there will be every day. This delay goes against the wellbeing of our people, doesn’t it?”

Heimdall senses his anticipation. Thor expects the question to catch Heimdall in a paradoxical situation.

The edge of his thumb flicks across Thor’s lip. It is a surprise. Thor gasps under him, the sound ending tightly in his throat. His lips pop open, soft and full of wonder. His body warmth spikes. Heimdall’s sensors buzz.

“Does it go against the wellbeing of our people?” Heimdall asks. “My processors say that is inconclusive.”

When Heimdall kisses Thor again, Thor wraps him in his arms. He has no more questions to ask. This, Heimdall’s processors tell him, is also quite good.

*The End*


End file.
